Leroux wandered through the crazed alien city, never stopping, always moving, revolvers held in front of him, at the ready. If he stayed still for too long, the noises got under his skin, tickling his mind.

Finding Tracy and the child was his one guiding thought. He focused on that thought alone to shut out all the other voices in his head, voices screaming for him to flee. It was not safe. This place was wrongness in physical form. He should turn heel and forget the two of them. They were likely dead already. He heard the objections as if through muffled ears. Leroux stifled the voices as best as he could. But the further he pressed into the disturbing place, the more doubt crept into his mind, so that the questions grew almost as loud as the wailing wind.

He knew by instinct that he moved the right direction, even if his sense of direction vanished the moment he set foot in the lost city. He knew because the biting fear and trepidation threatening to swallow him whole became palpable, as if terror itself might sneak up behind him and throttle his neck.

When he could no longer ignore the doubt, he threw accusations back at his own mind. He'd already lost Edom, Milton, Pete, and Quynn. And then Russ. Did he want to lose the one true friend he still had left? Would he ever sleep right knowing that he could have aided his pal? And the child. How could he ever live with himself knowing he'd send the bright-eyed boy off to his destruction.

The revolvers he crushed between his grip never felt so inadequate. Whatever resided in a place like this could not be killed or even harmed by his puny electromagnetic ammunition.

Mixed screams of agony and elation interrupted Leroux's thoughts. At first he assumed he'd finally cracked, that this place had driven him mad. That was still on the table, but the cries were very real. He became very aware of the frigid cold, as evidenced by the clouds of fog he blew from his mouth and nostrils. The hairs on his neck stood upright and goosebumps sleeved his arms.

Lost in tunnel vision, he didn't remember entering the corridor he found himself in, but the high architecture of the antechamber suggested he traversed through a regal, if not cryptic palace or temple. Tremors rolled underfoot. Gunshots, screams, hisses, and a terrible roar all reached Leroux's ears.

Cold sweat dripped down his back. Still he pressed on, moving faster now, breaking into a jog, then a steady run. Lumps of torn flesh littered the hall up ahead. Leroux recognized the beasts.

Dead they were, and still yellow eyed. But dead just the same. By some miracle. No, not a miracle. A lever action Model X4 lay discarded on the floor, not too far from the rotting alien corpses.

Tracy had stood his ground and conquered these. But he lost his rifle. Leroux knew how seriously Tracy cared for his arms. As if they were part of him. He'd not so easily leave this behind. Not while in the thick of it.

A sharp pain tugged on Leroux's chest. He hoped he wasn't too late.

His inspection and revelation took mere seconds, but each moment mattered now.

He holstered his own guns, scooped up the Model X4, and bolted to the end of the hall and passed under an archway into a large chamber.

Moonlight from above spilled in from outside, illuminating some sort of centerpiece to the room, but clouded in haze. Leroux's eyes scanned the room for Tracy, but could not spot him. Instead he saw the boy.

Ashton crouched near a stairway in the center of the vast room, surrounded by those freakish monsters. The prowlers circled the young one, and would have snatched him up if not for Tracy's chrome steeder. Like a true noble stallion, the Mustang marched around the boy, pistons pumping, exhaust pipes roaring. Any time a tentacle lashed out to trap the child, the steeder bucked and reared on its hind legs, batting the attacks away. But he could not hold off for long. More of the alien beasts poured in from adjacent corridors.

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Fear gripped Leroux. Not for himself, but for little Ashton. He could not allow the boy to fall victim to the vile predators.

His legs pumped as he descended the steps, charging into the fray. He leveled the X4 at the beasts, firing sparingly into the horde. Fist-sized chunks of alien meat exploded with each blast. They recoiled with grating hisses.

If he could make it to the stallion, he could nab the child and ride the steeder out of the cursed citadel.

The spectacle at the center of the chamber threatened to distract and stop him entirely. Eerie flashes of fluorescent amber light coruscated in the unnatural tumbling mist. Tremors pulsed, matching the peals of thunderous claps.

With each flash, two silhouettes materialized in the mist. The outline of Tracy was unmistakable. Leroux would recognize his friend anywhere. The other being overshadowed the marshal without comparison, an ominous slender colossus towering in the gloom.

Fierce venomous malice radiating from the battle happening in the center jeopardized Leroux's burst of courage, desiring to strangle him with bitter despair. He could only wonder how Tracy was still standing in the midst of that brutal force.

But he knew what his friend would want. He'd want to protect this kid.

Leroux swooped up the child in his arms and mounted the steeder.

A sea of tentacles twitched wildly, blocking every pathway in which Leroux and the boy might escape. He fired into the fray and commanded the stallion to giddy up. The steeder obeyed, charging the things, trampling its own path through the horde.

Cords latched onto Leroux and the child, but the sheriff shot and battered them away. The steeder cleared a path to the stairway and began its ascent out of the madness.

The predators followed in their wake, hungry howls erupting from their fanged maws. With six legs each, Leroux understood there was no way the stallion could gallop fast enough, especially given the fact that Leroux barely had even the vaguest sense of how to escape the city.

The steeder crested the top step, and Leroux was fully committed to blasting every last one of them until their bodies piled high enough to blockade the hall. He pulled the steeder to a halt and leveled the Model X4 at the incoming onslaught. Two shots and two beasts bit the dust, huge holes gaping in their heads.

Leroux cocked the lever action again and again. The bodies began to pile up. He couldn't believe his plan was actually working. Then he cocked the lever and dry fired the railgun.

Out of ammo.

A gut punch hit him with sickening force. He wielded his revolvers, but the smaller guns were not nearly as effective.

Time to make a break for it. But as he thought it, he knew in his heart of hearts, he and the boy wouldn't make it.

As he considered running, a mounting pressure from inside the chamber built up. Leroux felt physically tugged towards the epicenter. And then, just as quick, an explosive force rolled over him. The steeder backpedaled a few steps, but stayed upright.

A weight lifted from Leroux's soul. After a moment he realized all of the oppressive energy that permeated the chamber had diminished, almost vanishing entirely.

Whatever happened inside the chamber had a profound effect on the beasts. As one they hissed, their cry converging into a single howl of pain. Their thick muscles and vibrant vines shrank, as if eaten away from the inside. Their sick skeletal structures became visible as their frames hunched over in pain. Scattering in every direction, the withered freaks scuttled away, crawling into remote dark corners to curl up and suffer.

Leroux couldn't believe what he witnessed. What caused this? The steeder, feeling his curiosity, passed through the archway.

Down in the epicenter, the clouded haze melted away. The slender abomination was no more. The sheriff half expected to see the marshal strewn out on the altar, having sacrificed his life so the boy could live. What Leroux saw defied all reason.

Trace the Ace stood tall in the parting mist, towering over a cowering figure that could only be Roy Rothspalt.